


Seaside Walks

by twoam



Category: Bang Bang It's Reeves and Mortimer
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fun, M/M, Seaside, Slice of Life, lots of fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24793501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoam/pseuds/twoam
Summary: Five fun things to do while waiting for giro day, and one fun thing to do on it.
Relationships: Derek/Tom Fun
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	Seaside Walks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowerdeluce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/gifts).



I. 

There was always fun at the end of the pier. There was always fun somewhere but the end of the pier was special. The helter-skelter, missing its roof, red and white paint waiting to be touched up for summer. The roller-coaster, waiting for its riders under the scudding clouds. The arcades. The toilets that were just like the ones at school.

Today it was there and waiting for them when they arrived. Only someone with zero sense of fun – say, a magistrate – would have failed to see the potential in the abandoned building materials. A couple of nails, some stray planks and an empty tin of paint left by the railings. Enough to make Tom turn to Derek with a smile.

"Look, doesn't that look fun?" 

"Oh yes. That looks like fun!" The depth and warmth of Derek's lovely voice as he let go of the wagon, joined Tom as he leaned against the railings. Ready for fun.

"They're good nails."

"Very fine. The rust gives them an air of gravitas." 

"Reckon you could knock them into the sea with a plank?" Derek picked up a plank, gave it a testing swing.

"Yes, why not." He swung again, and Tom threw a nail at it. Derek missed. The nail clattered against the old wood planks of the pier, before it rolled into the large gap between the planks and dropped into the sea.

"See, now that's very fun. It dropped right into the sea because you missed it. Let's try rolling them." They hunkered down, crouched next to each other as they poked the nails along. Their eyes met as they pushed one straight into a gap, only looked away to make sure they didn't miss the splash. A herring gull called out overhead, circled over them to check the nails weren't tasty. They looked up, heard its bitter cry of disappointment before it flew away. The rest of the nails rolled into the sea with the most satisfying splashes.

"Should we try the tin next?" 

"Yes, that'd be fun." The wood creaked as they got up. Leaning over the railings, paint tin handle held between both of their hands, joining them together, the tide rushed forward under their feet. The paint tin dangled over the water, like a damsel in distress in an old comic. "It might be fun to do a countdown." Derek leaned further over the railing and counted the beats under his breath. It was like drumming, the swing of the paint tin the beat between them. Tom found himself pulled in, the rhythm as irresistible as it'd been at Wembley. Four bars between them before Derek finally counted down.

"One, two, three, four!" The tin flew from their hands, landed in the water with a satisfying splash. With the lid still on, it bobbed and started to float away. Carried off on the tide. "I would like to follow it and see where it's going." The comment was thoughtful. Derek leant against the railing, the red paint flaking off onto his jacket. 

"It'd be fun, floating away on the sea."

"It'd be fun with you." Tom smiled, braced himself against the railings to lean out, inhaled the salty sea air deep into his lungs. The music started playing in the arcade behind them. The ring of the buzzer. The rattle of two pence coins pushed along inside the machine. 

"Very fun." Maybe next giro day.

* * *

II.

After the fun of chasing after the sweeper despite the men driving it ignoring them again, they drifted towards the promenade. A small van with the council's logo proudly painted on its side, was parked up next to the flower clock. The Grand rose up behind it in its decaying Victorian grandeur, a location they'd managed to have lots of fun in until the owner barred them. A shame, the hotel had been a great source of fun. So many people to have fun with! Even the strange carpets were fun to walk along, following the swerve and wave of its pattern with their feet. 

They wandered over to watch the gardeners who came out of the van, boxes and trays of bedding flowers in their arms. 

"Flowers! Excellent." The sight of them put a smile onto Derek's face. "I'd like to take some with me." Tom considered if he'd be able to borrow a box of flowers without the men noticing, to take back to their lodgings tonight. Unlikely, they were already giving them the eye. Maybe later.

"Are they getting the flower clock ready?" They skirted around the men carefully, the wagon following faithfully behind them. The flower clock in the centre of the grassy area looked so strange without its flowers, almost indecent. The time was stopped at ten fifteen. The gardeners ignored them, giving them scope to watch the boxes of flowers being laid out. The different flowers, the bright colours striking against the green of the grass. One of the gardeners moved a tray, stepped back, moved it again.

"Busy Lizzies would work well there!" Derek shouted out. The gardener ignored him, placed some Phlox there instead. "Those are good too. Very fun!" The gardener ignored him again and turned back to the van to get another tray. 

"They are very fun." Even if the gardener ignored it, it was true. Derek nodded sagely, looked pleased with his agreement. 

"Oh, you know what this reminds me of?"

"What does this remind you of?"

"That time you fell into that rowing boat filled with flowers on the way back from The Grand. Oh, that was fun." Tom remembered it. How his balance went when he'd tripped over the edge of the boat in the darkness. The smell of the squashed bedding flowers that'd broken his fall. The brief moment when he wondered if he'd be able to get back up again, if he'd be lying there forever, before Derek appeared. His deep, rich laugh, before he pulled Tom back up to his feet, once again. 

"It wasn't that fun." He looked over to the offending boat, empty now but a lone tray of flowers waiting next to it. A promise of renewal in the lonely tray of hot pink Busy Lizzies. Perhaps it could be fun now, even before it was filled with flowers. "Say, let's have some fun now." 

They nonchalantly approached the boat. Without the flowers in it, the missing planks were more noticeable. The gardeners were focused on laying out the flowers on the clock. It was the perfect chance. They hopped into the boat, Derek at the bow and Tom at the stern. A nice boat, almost sea-worthy despite the missing planks. 

"Where are we off to?" 

"You need to do the voice. The pirate voice." 

"Arrr! Where areee we off to?" Derek sounded more like the long-haired one in Time Team than a pirate, but that was fun too. Fun to think about some more about sailing off together on an adventure. 

"To find treasure!"

"Oi, get out of there!" The two of them scrambled out, fled back into the town with their cake and snout before the gardeners could get their hands on them. Just like the magistrate. No wonder they'd ignored Derek's gardening advice.

* * *

III. 

"I must say, this is rather fun." Tom looked up from the clothing rail, saw the magnificent straw ladies hat resting on Derek's head like a crown. The fake fruit around the brim, the plastic banana hiding the hole just above the brim, the mismatched ribbons. The blanket around his shoulders to complete the look. It was the kind of tartan blanket that appeared in the car boot, ready for a picnic, without anyone remembering having brought it.

"You look like one of those posh birds on Ladies Day."

"I'm ready for the Royal Enclosure!" A dramatic thrust of his arms made the blanket slide down over Derek's shoulders. Tom pulled it back up over his shoulders before turning back to the rail of clothes. Such variety! It was amazing to think what people would donate. 

"What should I wear?"

"You ought to dress up, in case we run into Princess Anne like last year." A flourish as Derek reached out for the hat on the shelf next to them. Less fun than Derek's, no fruit on it but a much wider brim and a ribbon the size of his hand. Derek placed it on top of his own hat. It sulked momentarily on top of the baker boy hat, before it slid off in disgusted protest. "We're out of top hats, it'll have to do." 

"Maybe this jacket? Look, it's got an unusual stain on the lapel." With a glance over to the surly assistant on the till, who ignored them from the moment they walked in for a dog-eared Andy McNab book, he pulled Derek in to take a closer look.

"Mustard?"

"Too dark. Ketchup?"

"Maybe it's brown sauce." The two of them lingered on that thought. Brown sauce. Ketchup. Perfect as part of a proper fry up, with white toast on the side and as many tomatoes as Derek could desire. The fracas Derek had in their lodgings this morning pushed them out early, and now the sun was starting to set but breakfast still loomed large in their thoughts. 

Tom poked at the stain to take his mind off it. That didn't reveal any further information on its origin. Carefully he dipped his fingers into a pocket, and felt paper against his fingertips. 

"Take a look at this, this should be fun." Derek let the tartan blanket slide onto the floor, and crowded in closer. Maybe a map? A secret message? A shopping list? Tom pulled the piece of paper out.

A dry cleaning ticket. 

"Well, I guess that's fun."

"Yes. Do you think it was for this jacket?" 

"Considering the stains on it, I hope not." Tom shoved the ticket back into the pocket, and picked the hat carefully off Derek's head. It didn't look as good on the head of the bald mannequin when he put it back on her head, but it still had some charm.

* * *

IV. 

It was very fun that they could pretend they were giants. Derek loomed over the tiny Spar on Commerical Road like the fifty foot woman. If they got their footing wrong, they'd be trampling schools, houses, the Taj Mahal and Big Ben that were also included on the seafront. 

"Look out!" Tom's foot hovered over a tiny model woman, dressed in her sixties finest. Her pillbox hat was tilted at a jaunty angle. Despite her blank face, she looked miffed at his foot's intrusion, hovering over her. Her clothes reminded him of Mrs Hardborne at infant school. So did the miffed aura. That was fun too. He put his foot back down, onto the safety of the trail for giants. Mrs Hardborne was safe for another day. 

They were drifting through town, just like they usually did, but this was even more fun. The difference in scale, getting to feel big in the world. Being able to peer into the tiny houses, where everyone was eating their tea, or watching TV, or delivering milk to a woman still in her dressing gown. Time meant nothing in the model village.

"Look what's over here." Derek looked over, from the lovingly recreated seventeenth century spire of the model church he was admiring, to where Tom was standing. The little terrace house near the seafront, their current lodgings. The elegant accommodation of Thongweed House, with its faded lavender paint. The model was a perfect recreation, right down to the misspelt sign at the front that declared it had 'covolur TV'. It was a true labour of love.

"It's magnificent." Derek awkwardly stepped over a row of terrace houses to join him. He accidentally caught the TV aerial on one of the roofs with his shoe and tore it off. Derek didn't notice and Tom politely ignored it so they wouldn't get thrown out. Despite the third Tuesday of the month being the free entry day, there was nobody else around. The tiny town was theirs to explore. 

"It's fun, how it's a lot smaller than it actually is." Tom crouched down to take a closer look at the net curtains. Just like they'd looked that morning when they'd been thrown out at five thirty am because of Derek kicking off. Hard to imagine that as Derek joined him to take a closer look at the house now, in his subdued and peaceful state. 

"There should be a tiny us in there. With the swimming man." Tom straightened up again. Derek was right. It was strange for this house alone to not have people in it. It would be fun for them to be there in miniature form, Derek reunited with the swimming man who'd swum away from them so quickly. 

"Do you still have those stones?" Derek frowned for a moment as he rummaged in his pockets, pulled out the items in his pockets with surprise. A piece of string, a mysterious thing they'd found in a skip, a half penny, some leaves, a key chain with a chicken on it, a conker from last autumn. Eventually Derek found them. The skimming stones, ready to be taken to the sea front later. Just small enough to fit into the model house. Tom plucked them out of his fingers. 

With a little wriggling they fitted in through the window, into the front bedroom. Three little stones. 

"Is this conceptual art? Brian was very into that." Tom didn't know what that meant. It sounded like something from Derek's musician days. It sounded impressive when Derek declared it like that, so warmly and wisely. 

"Yes. See, it's us and the swimming man." Tom peered at the scene, the rocks in the room. "If you squint." It was close enough. It was a sign they'd been here, would still be there even after they moved onto their next lodgings.

* * *

V.

It was brisk out on the beach. The occasional burst of drizzle and the strong winds coming off the sea were fun, cleared the beach of all but the hardiest beach-goers. They passed a family struggling with their wind-breaker, umbrella and picnic blanket. The sand was getting into their sandwiches. Their own food was safely wrapped away in the protection of the wagon. 

"Is it giro day yet?"

"No, not yet." Soon, but not today. 

"What are we going to do today?" The wagon followed behind Derek loyally. Tom glanced at it. Their source of fun for today. 

"Today we're going to have the cake and snout." Once they found the right spot, the perfect spot for the fun of eating and smoking for a couple of hours. With giro day coming, they'd be able to refill it soon. The seagulls shrieked overhead, giving them the eye. Giving their cakes the eye.

"That sounds fun." They kept walking on the sand, the tide washing out against their feet. Derek's hand in his, so he didn't lose him as they walked far beyond the pier, to an even quieter spot. "Look, there's a spade there." Tom stopped to let Derek pick it up. It was a sign. 

"Right, here then." They sat down, settled down with the wagon behind them. Up on the cliff to their right, above them, two cars were parking up. Derek watched them park, orange plastic spade twisting thoughtfully in his hands. Tom turned to pick through the wagon, lit up his first cigarette while manhandling a fairy cake wrapped in plastic. "Look, this cake's got a dinosaur on it. That's fun." 

"Yes, very." Derek turned to get his own snout while Tom took his turn to watch the parking. It was fun, because despite all the space around them, they'd parked up near each other. There was a space between them, big enough to get the doors open. Tom shaded his eyes with his hands, puffed on his cigarette as a third car appeared on the cliff and pulled into the space between them. 

The people in the car tried to open the doors. The doors got stuck. Tom laughed as they battered the other cars trying to get out. The laugh made Derek look up from his fairy cake, squint to see what was going on high above them. 

"They're stuck." 

"This is fun." The two of them watched the middle car's doors battering on the doors of the other cars eagerly. "Oh, look, they're climbing out of the windows now." With the cake and snout, the distant arguing and shouting carried to them on the wind, the small hole Derek was digging in the sand with his nice new spade as they watched, it was fun. The way Derek laughed at the horn going off, knocked by someone's feet as they tried to climb out that way, made it even more fun.

* * *

I.

Giro day, just like always, was the most fun day of the fortnight. The hours spent in the arcade, trying out every machine. The man in the prize booth who always tutted when giving anyone a prize, even when the prizes were incredibly fun. 

"I don't think it wants to come out." 

"Maybe if I just-" Tom banged at the glass. The plastic alien stayed suspended in the claw. The moment of suspense made them both hold their breath, before the claw dropped it. "No!" 

"It was so close. Maybe if we try again, we'll get them." 

"No banging on the machines!" They turned to the prizes man, who hadn't even bothered to get out of his booth to shout at them. He made eye contact with both of them, tutted even more loudly than usual before turning back to his copy of Loaded. 

"Should we try another machine?" 

"I want tomatoes." The demand was sudden and very earnest. A rare demand from Derek, who was so willing to go with the flow. Today, they could have them. Go to the caff, the tinned tomatoes on toast. But the caff might be dangerous today. It was giro day, everyone was roaming around. Looking for people who owed them money. Looking for people like Tom. He looked at Derek, saw the distress on his face.

It might be steamy again in the caff. So steamy it'd be impossible to see them in there, enough to not be hassled by Terry and his kind while Derek had his tomatoes. He could get a fry up, they still had enough pennies for it. It was worth risking it. It'd be fun to make Derek happy.

"Come on, let's go to Shelia's." Derek's face lit up as they turned away from the claw machine. 

They took the back streets to Shelia's. It was like being secret agents, just like on the telly, if the secret agents were hiding from people who wanted their money back instead of the Russians. 

"This is fun." Derek was enjoying it, buoyed up by the thought of tomatoes, even if Tom was preoccupied by thoughts of Terry instead. The man had hands the size of his head. He'd rather be thinking of tomatoes as well.

The rain started just as they reached the caff. The windows were already steaming up, a blessed sign. They might be able to get away with it, enjoy this in peace. The waitress gave them a glare that was both bored and contemptuous as they entered, turned away to snap at another customer. Oh, it was fun how she always did that. 

They picked a table at the back near the entrance to the kitchen. The smell of fry ups, years of them, made Tom feel ravenous. Derek picked up the menu, flicked through the stock photos that nothing that had ever been cooked here had ever looked like. Not even in the cook's dreams. 

"That's rather good." The menu slid awkwardly across the sticky surface of the table, Derek pointing at the clown ice cream. 

"It's the little blue hat on it." 

"Yes, I thought that was fun." If they ordered it, it'd look nothing like that, would probably look like the victim of some horrible accident. That would be fun too. The waitress came over, took their order like tomatoes on toast had killed her family. The anticipation only added to the fun. It'd be fun to see what the fry up looked like, even more fun to see Derek happy. 

It was, by far, the best part of having fun. Making Derek happy.


End file.
